ichael could see a twitching of the mouth under the
moustache. 'It is about Olive that you want to see me.'

'You are right. Will you kindly give me the date and place of your
marriage?'

Matthew O'Brien nodded and drew a folded paper from his breast-pocket.

'There it is. Tom told me I had better write it down in black and white
to save us all trouble. I have put down the date and the name of the
church where we were married. Strange to say, I can even recollect the
name of the parson who did the job; he was a little black-haired man,
and his name was Craven. It was a runaway match, you know. Olive was
stopping with some friends in Dublin, and I met her early one morning
and took her to St. Patrick's. You will find it all right in the
register--Matthew Robert O'Brien and Olive Carrick. There were only two
witnesses: an old pew-opener, and a friend of mine, Edgar Boyle. Boyle
is dead now, poor chap! but you will find his name all right.'

'Can you tell me also, Mr. O'Brien, where I can find the entries of your
children's baptism? It may be necessary for them to know this some day.'

'Well, sir, I believe I can satisfy you on that point, too. We were
living at Stoke Newington when the children were born. You will find
their names in the register at St. Philip's--Cyril Langton Carrick: that
was a bit of her pride; she wanted the boy to have her family names.
Kester and Mary Olivia--my little Mollie as we meant to call her--I have
not seen her since she was a baby;' and here Michael was sure Mat dashed
away a tear. 'It was a barbarous thing to rob me of my children, and I
was so fond of the little chaps, too. I think I took most to Kester; he
was such a cunning, clever little rogue, and his mother did not make
half the fuss about him that she did about Cyril.'

'She has acknowledged that to me.'

'I don't doubt it, sir. Olive will acknowledge anything; she will have
her flare-up one minute and frighten you to death with her tantrums, and
the next she will be as placid and sweet-tongued as ever. She was never
the same for two days running; it would be always some scheme or other,
something for which she needed money. I used to tell her she never
opened her lips to me except to ask me for money; and woe betide me if I
told her I was hard up.'

'But she had money of her own?'

'Yes; but she muddled it away. She was always a bad manager. I never saw
such a woman; and Biddy was just as bad. We might have had a comforta